Page 5 of Until Now
Maxen
It’s weird living in someone else’s house. When Hunter isn’t here, I’m like a scavenger tracking down lost treasure. Where the hell does she keep the extra toilet paper? How many places could it be? And why didn’t I ask when I had Kim on the phone? Fuck. Finally had to grab the Kleenex from the bedside table and take it in here with me. Can’t find the fucking wipes either. Shit. Literally.
“Cali! Will ya stop that? God. I’m sitting right here, a foot away from you! I can feel your breath on me! It stinks, by the way. Get out! I’m not going anywhere.”
You’d think I could just shut the door, but oh no. Tried it. The whining, the scratching, and eventually, the barking is more annoying than letting her join me. So now, she expects the open invitation. Her expression reminds me of an overeager volunteer at some college orientation. ‘Let me show you how cool this place is! New places to explore! You’re gonna love it here!’
This change in scenery and company is considered a great adventure to a dog who lives to engage the world’s population. The fact Hunter isn’t warming up to her like almost every other human being does is just a minor detail. She is so fucking sure that they will be friends; it doesn’t occur to the dog the cold freeze will last. She keeps bringing him the ball, regardless of the fact it’s never thrown. Life is good when you’re living in Cali’s world. Talk about rose-colored glasses.
But good isn’t without challenges. This bathroom scene is just a minor one. The thing is, I’m not new at this. It’s been three years since I brought her home from the pound, and my Cali skills have been honed. First off, never go into the bathroom without a ball. As long as I can throw, she’ll fetch. That buys a pocket of alone time.
This is a small bathroom off the hallway, so it’s going to be difficult. If I can bounce it off the wall right outside the door, it could take a hard left into the living room. Reaching over the counter, into the sink, I retrieve the ball. Cali’s eyes light up with purpose. Her tail hits both sides of the bathroom door. Slap, slap, slap. No. It’s more like Godzilla’s tail. Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Okay, girl, see if you can find this one.”
I eye the exact spot on the wall that looks like the rebound point of impact. Cali is on alert. The tight space is making her excited movements comical—a St. Vitas Dance thing. I pull back and let the ball fly hard. It hits my target and speeds out of the line of sight and down the path, hall to room.
The dog takes off like a bat out of hell—a sixty-three-pound bat with a mission to save humanity from lost balls. Nails scratch on wood floors as a good grip eludes her. Then I hear a loud heavy thump when dog meets object. Something topples and crashes to the floor. Sounds of broken glass punctuate the moment. Silence. Then the clicking of nails as Cali quickly moves away. Oh fuck.
I wrap up my business and pull up my jeans, zipping as I exit. “You okay, girl?” I call, rounding the turn.
My eyes light on the scene. Cali approaches with the tennis ball between her teeth. Happy as shit. There’s a half-broken daisy atop her head, and water drips between her eyes and off her nose. Doesn’t matter to my girl. It’s a satisfied, proud look she wears. ‘I got the ball, Dad! It was lost, and I expertly recovered it!’. She lays it at my feet like the treasure of Sierra Madre.
Before me, I see the results of my “game.” The side table made of wrought iron is on its side. The vase of garden flowers a neighbor brought is in a thousand shards on the floor. Water runs lazily underneath the recliner. Kim mentioned the uneven floor, and here’s proof.
Outside I hear Hunter approach and the front door swing open. His blue eyes survey the damage.
“Hey. Look what I did,” I say, chuckling.
Hunter’s eyes settle on Cali. “You mean what she did,” he says in low tones.
He never calls her by name. But I won’t push it. Let the kid grieve in his own way.
“No. It was me. I was trying to bank a shot off the hallway wall. Cali just did what I knew she would, what comes naturally. Anyway, where’s a towel I can use to wipe this mess up? And bring me the vacuum too. There’s lots of glass here.”
He throws the basketball in his hands to the couch and moves to the hall closet.
“By the way, where does your mom keep the toilet paper? I looked everywhere.”
Opening the closet door, he turns back to me. “Right here. It’s our pantry.”
Shit. Thought that was for coats. Hunter takes out the vacuum cleaner. “It’s where we keep this too.”
He goes a few feet to the hall cupboards and takes out a big towel.
“Hey, you ready for some barbecue today? Probably watermelon or ice cream too. Fireworks.”
He gives me a blank stare.
“What? Not feeling it?”
He starts cleaning up the water as I move the recliner.
“Not really. Can’t I stay here? You could go. Mom lets me stay by myself.”
I feel for the kid. I do. But I’m not starting that. There’s just a small window of opportunity for me to establish any sort of authority. It’s the only way to protect him. Good thing he’s still young, and I have a chance. Kim will kill me if I fuck this up.
“No. We go together or not at all.”
